


It Sounded Better In My Head

by Razer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Barista Dean, Coffee Shops, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Writer Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-01 13:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8626342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razer/pseuds/Razer
Summary: In which Castiel has a writer's block and Dean thinks everyone can write. He's wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

Dean was wiping the counter again.  
It was more out of habit by now, than actually to make sure it was clean. At this time of the day the coffee shop wasn’t all that busy. Every ten minutes or so a costumer would place an order or ask for a refill, but other than that, the Winchester had all the time in the world to focus on the dark haired man, sitting at his usual table next to the window with a view outside, instead.  
The barista didn’t want to seem too stalkerish, though. Which was also why he was constantly wiping the counter or cleaning the coffee machine once again, even though he just did so half an hour ago.

_It had been already well into the afternoon when a tall man with dark ruffled hair and a trench coat had stepped inside the small coffee shop. He had a thick scarf wrapped around his neck and while it was pulled up high enough to cover his chin and mouth as well, his ears and nose were bright red from the biting cold.  
It was the middle of November and though it hadn’t snowed yet, it was freezing outside._

_“Heya Cas, what can I get ya?” Dean had grinned at the man, making him smile, as he’d made his way towards the counter.  
“Hello Dean,” he had said with his gravelly voice, now hoarse due to the cold, “I’ll have my usual.”_

_He always took the same kind: Black with two sugars, just a splash of milk and sometimes, when he was feeling particularly daring, a pint of cinnamon. Sometimes Dean tried to persuade him to try one of their specials, to get him into the Christmas-mood, but according to Cas cinnamon was all the Christmas he could take in the late autumn._

_“Coming right up,” Dean had said, immediately starting to work on the order.  
When Cas finally had his coffee in his hands, he’d smiled at Winchester before making his way towards his table._

 

Dean was glad that he was the only one working at the counter right now. Had Charlie or that demon Meg been with him, he’d have no free minute without them teasing him about his little crush.

Which wasn’t… a crush, that is.

Dean didn’t crush on anyone.

He simply liked watching Castiel work.  
There was something oddly calming about it. The older man was sitting at his table, trench coat hunched over the back of his chair. His fingers were practically dancing over the keyboard of his laptop and his brows were almost constantly furrowed in concentration. His half-drunk coffee was standing beside him, probably already gone cold due to his lack of actual drinking.  
Dean knew that Cas would buy another one as soon as he’d notice that his was way too cold for his liking.

The writer would tilt his head every now and then, in his usual confused manner, staring intensely at the display. Dean imagined he looked over whatever he had been writing, trying to work out even the tiniest quirks or plot-holes.  
Cas would frown, his piercing blue eyes solely focused on the piece of technology in front of him. While he wasn’t particularly fond of computers, he had found that they were quite efficient for getting his writing done a lot faster. Nevertheless, the dark haired man always kept a notebook beside him, having written down little notes or ideas he wanted to add to the story. Sometimes a new character he wanted to introduce or a description of a landscape he particularly liked.

Cas had been coming to this coffee shop since before Dean had started to work here. Even though they only saw each other while the writer was spending his two hours in the shop, they knew each other pretty well by now. The Winchester never missed the chance to talk to him. And he was a very outgoing, flirty person. The first time Cas had stepped a foot into the coffee shop while Dean had been working at the counter, he’d practically flirted his pants off. That is, if Cas would get that he was being flirted with. But the older man understood about as much of flirtation as a stone.

He would politely return compliments and laugh at Dean’s stupid jokes, before getting his coffee and sitting down at his usual table, almost immediately getting his laptop out to start working.

Today was different though.  
Dean noticed how frustrated the writer looked, glaring at the device as if he was close to throwing it against the nearest wall. Whenever he wrote something down, it didn’t take long for him to hit the delete key.

Dean subtly checked the clock, before slipping out from behind the counter and walking towards the older man.  
Castiel had just shut his laptop, huffing in frustration, as he put it back into his bag.  
“Hey Cas,” Dean said, getting the writer’s attention, “You mind if I sit with you a bit?”  
He nodded towards the chair standing on the opposite side of the table and the dark haired man looked up at him.  
“Don’t you have to work?” he asked, frowning.  
Dean shrugged: “Not much to do right now anyways, thought I’ll take five. When someone comes in I’ll do my job, don’t worry.”

Cas nodded slowly, making a somewhat inviting gesture: “Of course. Take a seat.”

Dean watched the other man closely as he sat down. Noticing the tired look in his eyes and his hair even more disheveled than usual, since Cas had been running his hands through it repeatedly.

“You okay?” the Winchester asked, a hint of concern in his voice, “You look like you could use a drink. Or some awesome apple pie.”

The writer chuckled softly: “I’m fine. I just can’t seem to get anything done today.”  
“Plot is not going so well?” Dean asked.  
Cas sighed: “Well, I know how I want the story to continue… I just happen to be stuck.”

The younger man cocked his head to the side, before saying: “But it can’t be that hard, right?”

“Usually, it isn’t,” Cas agreed.

“Why don’t you just write down whatever’s on your mind? It doesn’t have to be perfect right away, does it? You can always edit it afterwards.”

Cas huffed, running his hands once again through his messy mop of hair: “That’s not the point. It seems like my brain is completely blank whenever I try to put my ideas into words. It’s very frustrating.”

“Maybe you’re just thinking too complicated,” Dean suggested, “I mean… after all, you just use words. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Castiel laughed: “No, Dean. I don’t just ‘use words’. I can’t just force the right words to happen. Writing is so much more than that. It’s about the emotions that are connected to the story and to every single involved character. What they do. How they do it. How they develop over the course of the story and what obstacles they have to conquer in order to do so. You don’t just make a story with any words. You have to feel the story.”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head: “See, complicated. I’d be stuck too if I tried to write with so many different things to consider. Don’t they just fall into place when you write?”

“As if you’ve ever tried to write something,” Cas deadpanned, though a small smile tugged at his lips, “You’d be very lost.”

“What… you don’t think I can write something? I could, I can write anything,” Dean said defensively, as if Cas had just gone and offended his masculinity, “I will. You know what? I’ll just write something. And it will be awesome. You know why? Because everyone can write. It’s not rocket science, you just have to invest some time and patience and maybe google a word or two.”

Cas raised his eyebrows at him, already opening his mouth to argue about what Dean had just said, but the Winchester didn’t even let him come that far.

“No. Don’t say it. I’ll prove it to you,” he smirked at the older man, “Just you wait and see.”

*

_This was so not what Dean was expecting. What did people even write about? He frowned at the open Word page, glaring at it, as if that would make words magically appear. He scoffed to himself: “Whatever… I’m not gonna let that little bastard win…”_

*

“So? What did you think?” Dean grinned proudly at Cas, sitting down onto his usual chair whenever he was talking to the writer. It was a few days after the barista had decided to take up writing and his work was the first thing he shoved into Cas’ hands when the writer had entered the coffee shop.  
Cas looked up from his notebook, smiling softly at the younger man: “Hello Dean.”

“Hey Cas,” Dean answered, but you could tell that he was impatiently waiting for Castiel’s judgment.  
“What did you think?” he repeated his question from before.

Cas nodded slowly, clearing his throat.

“Uhm… it wasn’t bad,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully, “I mean apart from the slightly elusive plot development, the fact that it lacks historical accuracy and the overuse of the word “Bitch” it wasn’t all that … bad for your first try.”

Dean laughed, punching Cas lightly on the shoulder: “Come on man, there are tons of books that shit on “historical accuracy””

Cas nodded once again: “True, but if you choose to write a story taking place during the thirty years' war you should at least get the important facts right.”

“Oh fuck you,” Dean chuckled, “You didn’t even mention “historical accuracy” in your little speech yesterday.”  
The older man frowned, tilting his head to the side: “I figured that was quite obvious, given you are perfectly capable of logical conclusions.”

“Whatever,” Dean huffed, looking at Cas with a determined glance, “This was just the first try. Next time I’m gonna gank this son of a bitch.”

Cas just shook his head in disbelief, chuckling as Dean winked at him before heading back to the counter where a new costumer was already waiting.

*

It became some sort of routine for them. Every other day Dean would shove another story into Cas’ hands and invade his privacy on his break, demanding constructive criticism.

Cas didn’t mind. Not really. He quite enjoyed the young man’s company, and while he didn’t quite understand his motives, he looked forward to every day where he could spend that half an hour with Dean.

Right now the writer was staring at the new story Dean had provided him with. The Winchester was sitting opposite to him, waiting as Cas read over the words.

“Dean… did you base the entire story on… puns?” Castiel raised his eyebrows at the younger man.  
“Awesome, right?” he practically beamed at him, nodding as if he was waiting for Cas to praise him for it.

Cas gaped at him, before promptly getting himself together again and answering unsurely: “Well… I suppose in a way it could be considered an… abstract form of art.”

Dean laughed: “Did you like it better than the Werepyre story?”

The writer snorted: “I’m not quite sure… that one was like combining every stereotypical teenage fantasy love story ever written into one gigantic mess.”

“It wasn’t a teenage love story,” Dean protested, “It was way more badass than that.”  
Cas shot him an unconvinced look: “They were Vampyre-Werewolf hybrids, Dean.”

“So?” the Winchester asked defensively, “It’s not like I made them sparkle in the freaking sun.”

Cas squinted his eyes at him, tilting his head in confusion: “Why would they sparkle in the sun?”

Dean let out a laugh, shaking his head, as he clapped him on the shoulder: “Don’t ever change.”

With that he was standing up again, still laughing as he was walking back to the counter, leaving Cas sit there in utter confusion.

*

“You got a story for me today?” Cas asked, when Dean plopped down onto the seat.

“Nope,” Dean grinned, “Not today. Thought I’d let you focus on your own stuff for once. How is that coming along, by the way?”

“Not so well, I’m afraid. I’m still lacking the inspiration,” Cas sighed in defeat.  
Dean nodded slowly.  
“Okay,” he said, “Then let’s go.”

Cas frowned at his friend: “I don’t understand. Where to?”

The Winchester shrugged: “For a walk, in a park, I don’t know. Get you inspired.”

Castiel blinked: “Now?”

“Yep,” Dean answered, “My shift ended five minutes ago. So get your stuff, you ain’t getting outta this.”

 

When Dean took Cas out of the door of the small coffee shop, the sun was already sinking, only barely peeking over the tall buildings of the city, painting the sky and clouds in a deep reddish orange with just a hint of yellow and pink.  
Dean resisted the urge to grab the older man’s hand as he led him down the street. Instead he stuffed his own hands into the warm pockets of his coat.  
The narrow sidewalk was right next to one of the main streets, cars were passing by and making their surroundings not seem just as quiet. Every now and then a small tree was planted on the side of the walk. They were just a few years old, as their trunks were thin and they only towered a few inches over Dean himself. Most of their leaves had already fallen, paving the way in an ocean of brown and yellowish colors, some making crackling sounds when they stepped on them.  
Cas wrapped his trench coat a bit tighter around his body, trying to shield it from the cold wind and buried his nose in the thick scarf around his neck.

They reached a small park where some children were still playing on the grounds, from the looks of it catching each other, while their parents sat on the park benches, absentmindedly watching them as they talked to each other.

The park was surrounded by tall trees, mostly shielding it from the traffic. If you looked closely you could see a pair of squirrels hopping from branch to branch.

They reached a free bench and sat down. Dean was nervously biting his lip, trying his best to not stare at Castiel, who was watching the surrounds. It was a rather spontaneous decision of him to drag Cas out here, and in hindsight, he probably should have thought it better through. Now he was sitting next to the writer, not really knowing what to say.

“I like it here,” Cas said, interrupting his train of thoughts, “It’s very calming.”  
Dean nodded: “You should see it in the summer. It’s beautiful.”

The older man smiled at him: “I probably don’t get out enough.”  
“Probably? Dude, aren’t you constantly holed up in your shitty little apartment working on something?”  
Cas scowled at him.  
“It’s not shitty,” he protested, “And I do have a job besides working on my writing. It requires me to leave my apartment quite frequently.”  
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean. Don’t you do anything for fun?” Dean asked, “Or just… I dunno, just nothing?”

“I enjoy writing. To me that is ‘fun’,” Cas said, doing quotation marks at the word ‘fun’.  
“But there’s gotta be something else, too. Like, friends and stuff,” Dean shrugged.  
“I have friends,” the writer argued, “They just can be very exhausting.”

The younger man laughed: “Tell me about it. Most of my friends can be fucking annoying, too.”

Cas smiled at him: “Tell me about them?”

So Dean did. He told him about Charlie, the nerdy redhead, who could be so passionate about the things she loved, but sometimes talked about her computers and technology stuff as if Dean actually understood that kind of language.  
He told him about Benny, the gruff police officer, who was also one of his best friends and like a brother to him.  
And he told him about Sam.

“You know, sometimes we’d start these prank wars, and I don’t even know anymore why we do that, because it never ends well, but we do. It’s always harmless in the beginning, just some stupid stuff, like a spoon in the others mouth while they are sleeping and taking a picture, or itching powder in the other ones underwear. But we always take it too far. One time Sam put glue on my beer and I literally couldn’t let it go for hours, it just wouldn’t come off.” Dean said, smiling to himself at the memory.

Cas chuckled: “I know what you mean. My brother Gabriel is quite the prankster himself. I can distinctly remember the day he thought it hilarious to stuff my closet full of life-sized dolls just to scare me.”

They sat a few more minutes in silence. Not a forced, awkward kind of silence, but a very comfortable one. No one felt the need to actually talk right now, just enjoying the presence of the other, until Dean finally spoke up.  
“We should probably get back. It’s getting late and not that I’m complaining or anything, but it’s slowly getting cold as shit,” he said. It was true. As the sun had almost entirely disappeared from the sky the wind was only getting colder and Dean was this close to physically shivering.  
The older man nodded and slowly stood up from the bench, followed suit by Dean.  
When they were back in front of the coffee shop, Dean turned to Cas, asking: “So? Are you feeling inspired yet?”  
“You know what. I think I am,” he answered, before smiling genuinely happy at Dean, “Thank you.”

Dean smiled back at Cas, his heart making just the tiniest leap: “You’re welcome.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sam Winchester knew his brother.

He has been living with him for over twenty years now, and he was well aware of most of Dean’s habits. Whether it was his fondness for cheap beer and whiskey, his constant swearing or his passion for pool and dirty Japanese comics, Sam knew how his brother normally acted all too well.

But the way he was acting right now? That was not normal. Not for Dean Winchester.

It’s been weeks since Dean had even bothered to go out to a bar for a few drinks and maybe pick up some random chick, instead he’s been constantly on his laptop, rarely even leaving his room and even when he did, he always had his electronic device with him.  
And he’s not even watching porn. Sam would know, he checked his browser history.

Because apparently, for whatever reason, Dean had decided to take up writing.

 

It was a casual Thursday morning when Dean entered the kitchen, clock just striking 9 AM, to make himself his usual cup of coffee. He had his laptop under his arm, placing it on the table, before moving on to the coffee machine.

Sam was sitting at the table, watching his older brother closely, eyes squinted at him, while absentmindedly sipping his own coffee.  
Dean yawned, pushing some buttons on the machine and taking his favorite mug out of the cupboard.

As soon as he had his steaming cup of the brown liquid he sat down, immediately opening his laptop.  
He took a small sip from the coffee, hissing when he felt it burning against his lips, before putting the mug aside and started typing.

Sam gaped at him for a moment, before finally asking: “Alright Dean, what is up with you?”

Dean looked up from his laptop, raising his eyebrows in confusion: “What do you mean?”

His younger brother let out a laugh: “This Dean, right now. You never go anywhere without that thing anymore. You don’t go out at all. Hell, I don’t even see you drink your cheap whiskey anymore and you’re… I don’t know, less grumpy… What the hell has got you so occupied?”

The older Winchester simply shrugged: “It’s nothing, Sammy. Just this thing I’m doing for Cas.”

“What thing?” Sam asked, obviously not convinced by Dean’s somewhat dismissive response.

Dean rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance: “Just this writing thing.”

His brother let out another laugh: “Yeah, writing. Seriously? Since when do you write?”

“Since a few weeks?” Dean said, thinking about it for a moment, before nodding, “Yeah, I think that’s about right.”

“But… why?”

“I’m just writing these stories for him, ya know?” he said, absentmindedly, “Because he doesn’t think I can and because he’s going through some writer’s block or whatever. And he seems to like it, so I kinda keep going.”

“You write stories for Cas?” Sam asked again, as if he wanted to clarify it, grinning in disbelief, “Like… Cas Cas? ‘Cute Cas in a trench coat’ Cas? ‘Has eyes as blue as if there was a stormy ocean trapped inside’ Cas?”

The other Winchester snorted, rolling his eyes once again at his younger brother.

“I’m just proving a point,” he said, trying to play it off.

Sam chuckled in response: “Dude, it’s been weeks. You’re way past proving a point.”

*

Dean was lying awake in his bed. After constantly tossing and turning on the memory foam, he gave up finding a comfortable position. Now on his back, he was staring at the ceiling.

All because of Sam, he told himself. His brother’s statement had gotten Dean thinking. And now he couldn’t turn his head off to sleep.

He sighed, covering his face with his hands as he let out a frustrated groan.

“Damn…” he muttered to himself. He knew that he’d always had some sort of feelings for the dorky writer, not that he would ever admit that out loud, but it had never been more than a crush. Now he couldn’t help but notice how much these feelings had intensified over the last few weeks, growing steadily the better he got to know Cas.

He sighed once more, before grabbing his phone form the nightstand and opened Charlie’s contact, typing out a text message.

 **Dean** (11:42 pm)  
Just hypothetically speaking… is there a chance that Cas might like me?

The response was almost immediate, as it didn’t even take a minute before Dean’s phone was vibrating repeatedly at the incoming messages.

 **Charlie** (11:43 pm)  
I KNEW IT!!!!!!!

 **Charlie** (11:43 pm)  
Don’t worry about it, he totally digs you

 **Charlie** (11:43 pm)  
Have you never noticed him looking at your ass?

 **Charlie** (11:43 pm)  
It’s a great ass, btw – objectively speaking

 **Charlie** (11:43 pm)  
I’m so happy for you!!!

Dean blinked, staring at his phone, taken aback by the amount of response he had gotten from the redhead.

 **Dean** (11:46 pm)  
I never said I ‘like’ him…

 **Charlie** (11:46 pm)  
Right. Whatever you say ;)

Dean swallowed hard. For some reason her confirmation made him even more nervous than if she would’ve told him he didn’t stand a chance.

Running his hands through his hair, he took a deep breath, before coming to a decision: “Alright… let’s do this. Cas won’t know what hit him.”

With that he rolled out of the bed and grabbed his laptop, nodding to himself as he started typing.

*

Dean was tired as hell, when he plopped down on his usual chair opposite to Cas, looking expectantly at him.  
He had been up until the early morning, feeling strangely inspired all of the sudden. If he was being honest, he was kind of proud of how the story had turned out. It was cheesy as fuck, but it was basically everything he wanted to tell the older man, but was too much of a coward to say out loud.

Just an hour ago he had unceremoniously shoved his new piece of work towards Cas, previous to placing his coffee right next to it.  
“Hope you like it,” he had said, before winking at him and going back to work.

He had seen from the corner of his eyes, how Cas’ stood there a bit longer, blinking perplexed, before shaking his dumbfounded expression off and moving towards his table.

Now he was sitting in front of the older man, hoping that his trademark smirk would kind of hide the fact that he was just the tiniest bit of nervous about the writer’s reaction.  
“So?” he asked.

“So,” Cas nodded, “This one was oddly… I suppose the word would be… ‘cute’.”

“Cute?” Dean repeated his wording, “That mean you like it?”

The writer smiled slightly: “I suppose. Of course it lacks in depth and the plot is practically non-existing, but I believe for the sake of the story that is only subsidiary.”

“What do you mean ‘lacks depth’?” Dean scoffed, “That was one fucking adorable love confession in there.”

Cas gave a somewhat shrug: “I guess. But that has nothing to do with story and character depth.”

“But you liked it?” Dean clarified, as if he simply wanted to hear the writer say it out loud.

The older man chuckled, rolling his eyes at the Winchester’s persistence: “Yes. I enjoyed it very much, Dean.”

The corner of his mouth pulled into a wide smile, making his eyes almost sparkle.

He couldn’t wipe that stupid grin of his face for hours.

*

“I’ve been writing again,” Cas said, making Dean look up in surprise. It was one of those days where Dean once again had managed to haul the writer outside, this time dragging him to a playground, deserted at this time of the day. They were sitting on two swings hanging next to each other and while Cas had been watching the wind bend the branches of the trees and the sun slowly disappearing from the sky, Dean was drawing stick figures with his foot into the bark mulch.

“Yeah?” he asked.

The writer smiled, not averting his eyes from the sundown:” Yes. I would like you to read it, if you would want to?”

A bright grin formed itself on Dean’s lips. “I’d love to.”

*

Dean didn’t understand it.

It was a week and several love stories later, and Dean has had enough. For the last two weeks he literally hadn’t written anything else, always hinting more and more at his actual feelings for the writer.  
His last story was basically a love confession to Cas itself, but somehow the writer remained completely oblivious.

The Winchester had considered nearly everything. The characters looked suspiciously similar to them, shared the same characteristics as them and even had resembling professions. The only thing missing would be that they’d even have the same name.  
It was incomprehensible to the younger man how Cas still didn’t suspect a thing.

He let them fall in love. Made them kiss. Made them move in together, and even let them have a freaking pet. Dean didn’t even like pets!

Dean huffed in annoyance.

He had planned on telling Cas. Well, he had planned on telling Cas, without really telling him. But since the writer was also completely unaware to flirtation, Dean decided to do it through the only way he could imagine Cas getting his point, without actually having to say it out loud – through fiction.

In hindsight, that probably had sounded better in his head, than it did out loud.

 _“You’re being unnecessarily difficult,”_ Sam had said.

 _“Why don’t you just tell him,”_ Sam had said, _“Charlie said he likes you, too.”_

Dean scoffed.  
So what if he was being unnecessarily difficult? It had been hard enough to openly admit his feelings for the writer to anyone out loud, Dean deserved to be a little difficult.

The Winchester sat in front of his laptop, opening a new Word page.  
Biting his lower lip, he stared at the display, thinking about what he could possibly do to make himself even clearer.  
_“Or maybe they are wrong and he just doesn’t like you this way,”_ an annoying voice of doubt nagged at the back of his mind, _“maybe all he was doing was giving you an out, purposely ignoring your more than obvious advances, cause he didn’t want to embarrass you…”_

Dean let out a groan, scratching the back of his head, before murmuring to himself: “Oh fuck this…”

Without another glance he pushed the laptop close.

*

When Dean saw Cas the next time in the coffee shop, he gave him a single folded piece of paper.

Cas raised his eyebrows, tilting his head: “Something short this time?” he asked.

Dean gave him a tentative smile: “Something like that.”

The writer nodded, taking his coffee and returning Dean’s smile, before moving past him.

 

The Winchester was nervous.

He tried his best not to watch Cas, like he usually would. This time he avoided looking at the writer at all costs.

“This was such a bad idea…” he muttered to himself, as he was wiping the counter.

He could vividly picture Cas, as he would unfold the paper. He would frown when he’d see that there wasn’t really a story at all, tilting his head in his usual confused manner. And then he’d finally take a look at the words written right there, in the middle of the page in Dean’s scrawl of a handwriting.

_  
I’m kind of in love with you_

  
Dean sighed.  
Yep… this had definitely been a bad idea.

*

Dean swallowed hard, repeatedly clenching and unclenching his fists nervously.

“Hey, you okay?” Charlie asked, watching her friend closely with concern. On Tuesdays she always worked the same shift as Dean, which was also why she was standing right next to him that very moment.

The Winchester tried an easygoing grin: “Yeah… I’m fine… I’m just gonna take some air…”

The coffee shop wasn’t all that busy right now, so Charlie would be fine on her own for a few minutes. He nodded shortly at her, before leaving her alone behind the counter, ignoring the unconvinced look the redhead shot him.

As soon as he was outside he cursed, having forgotten how cold it was at this time of the year.

“Shit…” he muttered, wrapping his arms around his body in a weak attempt to warm himself up.

“Hello Dean.”

He cursed once more, rapidly turning around at the familiar voice of the writer.

“Cas…” he breathed, biting his lower lip, “What are you doing out here?”

Cas’ lips twitched slightly, not quite forming a smile: “I was under the impression that you would like this back.”

In his hands was the piece of paper Dean had given him no two hours ago. He slowly unfolded it, before turning it around, so the Winchester could take a look at it.

Right there, were Dean’s words were, was one single word in Cas’ neat handwriting added.

  
_I’m kind of in love with you, too_

  
Dean looked at him, eyes wide and mouth parted, gaping at the older man like a fish. And then he launched forward, gripping Cas by his trench coat and pulling him in to crash their lips together in a messy kiss.

He felt how Cas’ tensed up in surprise the moment their lips met, before every tension instantly left his body and he started to kiss Dean back. Wrapping his arms around his neck and burying his hands in the short hair of the Winchester, as he pulled him even closer until there was no space left between them.

Dean beamed when they finally broke apart, breathing heavily.

“That was awesome,” he laughed, “Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

Cas chuckled: “You could’ve told me sooner.”

Dean blushed, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment: “I wasn’t sure if you felt the same. I mean, I’m just… me.”

“Assbutt,” Cas muttered, before pulling Dean down for another kiss.

“Just so you know, though,” the writer murmured breathlessly against his lips, an almost mischievous glint in his eyes as he said the words, “I don’t believe this actually counts as a story.”

Dean snorted: “Oh, shut up.”

 *

Dean never really stopped writing him stories.

Not when they started dating. Not when they moved in together and not when they really did get a pet (a cat, Cas insisted).

It has been two years into their relationship, when Dean shoved another folded piece of paper into the hands of his boyfriend, nervously observing him, as Cas squinted at it.  
When he unfolded it, he could recognize a badly drawn doodle of a person on one knee with the words ‘MARRY ME?’ in capital letters scrawled next to it.  
Cas gaped at it, staring at the paper in front of him, before instantly dashing off to find a pencil, hastily writing one word underneath.

 

_YES._


End file.
